Arkham's Model Patient
by slunt
Summary: Asa Blanc, patient #0999, was by no means a problematic inmate, and he never did anything especially heinous, so being transferred to the Rogues' Gallery wing of Arkham was a complete surprise. Alas, overcrowding was always a harsh mistress; but at least the grass is greener on the other side. (Male OC/Riddler) (trivial Male OC/Black Mask) Constructive criticism is appreciated!


He threw up on the way to his cell- fortunately, he felt it coming and was able to alert the guard, who was also kind enough to take him to a bathroom. Unfortunately, it didn't warrant him spending another night in the med bay. The guard had said she would ask an orderly about nausea medication if this persisted, and he thanked her, though he knew he wouldn't be needing it. This was not from any illness, but out of sheer anxiety and nervousness. Nervousness because his cell was in the unofficially sanctioned 'rogues gallery'. The guard, some woman with red hair and a name that began with the letter 'J', seemed sympathetic—well, as sympathetic as she could be. He was still a criminal, and a criminal deemed mentally unfit to stand trial to be sentenced to Blackgate, at that. He really should've been in Arkham, but was what he did really bad enough to warrant a cell with THEM?

"Ohh," Asa gave a shaky groan as he ran a cuffed hand through his hair. The guard had joined him in the public access restroom out of security purposes, and was peering at him critically through reflective sunglasses. "They'll eat me alive, won't they?" Asa looked at her through the mirror.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I'm not sure why you're here, triple nine, as you haven't been parading around Gotham in a costume, so I doubt they'll know. It gives you the opportunity to remain an anonymous entity. If you can create a story that won't pique their interests, however perverse they are, that would go a long way in helping you stay under the radar. Unless Nigma decides to go snooping around."

"So the Riddler gets to be referred to by his name, but I'm still a number?" Asa laughed, trying to ease the intensity of the situation. He shut off the sink and walked towards her just enough to still maintain respective distance.

"What is your name, then?" Her voice was usually stiff, but now it seemed...more solemn. As if by finding out his name, she was promising herself it would hurt when the rogues did chew him up and spit him out in a body bag. She opened the door for him, and he marched out like the good little prisoner patient he was. Once they fell back into the usual formation, her leading him to his doom, he told her.

"My name is Asa Blanc. And I think you told me your name...if you did, I probably wasn't listening, sorry. It starts with a J, right?"

"It's Joanne. Stop," she held up a hand in some military sign to halt. They stood in front of some overbearingly intimidating heavy duty steel doors that must've been guarding the gallery. He would've thrown up again if there was anything in his stomach. Joanne turned to him and said, "They will attempt to converse with you. If you ignore them, they won't take kindly to that and'll escalate their behavior, and it will likely result in something unpleasant. If you piss them off, it'll be even worse. If you try to interest them, you'll be going down a road that will also lead somewhere unpleasant, so, for your sake, play it cool. Your best bet is to bore them. This is also a unique wing: it's co-ed, although the women are at one end, and there are always a barrier of empty cells between them."

"Do you know who my cell will be next to?"

"No. The last time I went through here, I saw two cells available; C2 and E6, and you're in D9. One of them was in between Nigma and Dent. The other was between Sionis and Tetch. Since then, some have escaped, some have been booked, and they've shuffled them around to make sure nobody stays in a cell long enough to find patterns and routines to exploit."

"...There's only so many cells though. What happens when they all know the layout? Or they work together?"

"The relocations have about 14 more cycles before repeating cell occupants, so it'll be a little over a year before we have to worry about that. And as for them cooperating, well..." She trailed off, tapping a code here and swiping a card there, and the metal doors released and spit a small bit of steam in their face before granting them entry.

Joanne did not have to finish the sentence, because inside was a surreal aisle of cells that echoed arguments and insults from varying sources—all that fell to a dim hush when the doors slid open. Asa stepped inside, carrying himself with a healthy dose of confidence that didn't edge towards smugness. It was accompanied by the blank face that Asa constructed, the unassuming one that said, 'hi, I mind my own business and am solely interested in doing the task ahead of me and have no motivation other than existing! Oh, you dropped something, let me pick it up for you, but I won't stab someone with a pencil for you!'

They walked the aisle in silence. People on either side were looking at him with what he assumed to be boredom or hatred- he didn't have a clear view since he was looking dead ahead and not allowing his stare to drift left or right. He continued on until Joanne grabbed his upper arm, ripping himself out of his inertia and causing him to stumble. Strike one. They most likely saw him as bait now. Great. A clumsy addition to the gallery of supervillains. He wasn't even among their ranks! He hadn't done anything wrong, really- but that wasn't up for argument anymore, according to the judge and the jury.

"Turn towards the wall, and walk into cell D9," Joanne ordered, now in her firm, chilling guard voice. He did as told, shivering at the sound of the cell door shutting behind him. "Step backwards and place your wrists in the receptacle slot."

Once again, he had done as told, and finally was relieved of his handcuffs and allowed to fully make himself at home in the surprisingly more spacious than his previous one, and even had a small partition that blocked the view of the toilet. The design was nice, the location left a lot to be desired.

"You will be escorted to the cafeteria for dinner at 5:45 sharp, then back to your cell at 6:30. You will be retrieved for shower privileges at 7:00am, then returned to your cell at 7:15. Breakfast is at 8 until 8:45, from where you will be escorted to the recreational facility. Afterwards is a solo session with Dr. Linette at 10:30, then rec time until 12 for lunch. Afterwards at 12:45 there is group with Dr. Linette until 2:30, then back to your cell until dinner at 5:45. If you have exhibited good behavior, you get optional rec time after dinner until 9pm. Do you understand?"

"I'm not going to remember that, but I guess I understand."

"Very good. It is currently 5:09, so you will be retrieved soon. Have a good day," she intoned, almost mechanically. Recited, probably.

She took a step back, spun on her heel, and walked straight out the sliding door. Once he heard it shut, he turned and threw up into the toilet. Not that there was anything to throw up anymore, it was just bile and stomach acid at this point. The silence was still rife with occasional whispers or 'fuck you' from one person to another. After a bitter moment, he could hear only one voice break the silence, that of a woman with a Boston accent:

"Ew, he's barfing!"


End file.
